


The Difference Between Medicine And Poison Is In The Dose

by Dimedog



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Gen, Insomnia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dimedog/pseuds/Dimedog
Summary: Move one inch at a time. Jesse was never good at self-soothing.





	The Difference Between Medicine And Poison Is In The Dose

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick… _  Tick _ …  _ Tick……… _

 

It dragged, each click of the clock’s minute hand sliding so seemingly slowly and loudly further into the night. A drum inside his chest pounding against its cage trying to leap outwards so it might find something.. Some kind of relief. Something to silence the deafening bass. Jesse turned to his side again, and then the other, thin cotton sheet sticking to cold sweat like it were melting. 

 

The Overwatch rest quarters were simple - cold steel walls dotted with photos and interactive maps that radiated a pale yellow, as well as complimentary cold steel floors holding a series of cots with a single chest for possessions at the end of each one. And, of course, that fucking clock staring out from atop the doorway with a golden glow that mocked the sun that seemed to never come.

 

_ 3am _ . Most of the team was sleeping elsewhere on various assignments or puttering around the facility working on god knows what. He knew Jack was mulling over some kind of bullshit in his personal quarters, and Gabe was working with that Shimada boy - couple years younger than Jesse and alarmingly hateful… but given his predicament Jesse couldn’t really blame him. He still had both his arms after all, and well, had a body he could consider wholly human. He considered himself lucky if only for the lack of mortal injury that by all means should have happened a thousand times over to himself by this point. He heaved a great sigh and rolled again to his other side, stretching his arm out over the edge and blindly groping for his phone on the floor. He’d been too afraid to leave under his pillow with how fragile it seemed so he had it tucked it into his shirt which by now.. Smelled maybe a bit too strongly.

 

His calloused fingers found the edge of the metal case, but he stopped a moment to clench his hand around the cloth in an effort to dry the sweat from his palm and keep from dropping the damned unit a seventh time. He never wanted one of these things but Jack insisted.  _ To keep an eye on you _ . Gabe had pulled Jesse aside later to show him how to alter the tracking to stay ‘random’ but predictable enough to not draw attention. As far as Jack or Torb’jorn (who designed the comm units for the entire team) were concerned, Jesse was sitting in a Waffle House right now, not… writhing in bed like some kind of sick dog struggling for air. 

 

Couple of years ago that dot would have sent the Overwatch hounds running to him. Visual links automatically opened to stare him directly in the face. Lockdown. Jesse do you want to spend the rest of your life stuck in the pen or do you want to do something  _ GOOD _ ? It was hard to think he was capable of that just starting out, especially when it felt like he had no choice. Can you be a good person if you’re forced to? Yet…. there was something deep down in his heart that thought maybe, just maybe, hey… maybe Good was possible. He could be good. But on his own terms. Maybe that’s why he liked Gabe so much. Reyes let him get his footing, let him explore Good without the restrictions that Jack shoved onto his shoulders immediately on coming through the doors. Piles of paperwork that Jack pushed across the desk towards Jesse without giving him so much as a second glance. Fill these out, forms A8 through G12. Forfeiture of prior affiliation. Oh this one too. Red tape. Official official official.

 

_ You can do a lot of good here, Jesse. Listen to me. Jack is a hardass and he’s never going to understand people like you and I. We’re damage control and Overwatch is, more often than not, the damage. _

 

Gabe had sat with him in his own quarters, half the size of Jack’s but somehow twice as comforting. It had way more personal photos decorating the walls, and the multitude of various pillows on the corner bed gave an indication of how important sleep was to him and maybe.. Something more. The air smelled like stale coffee and… mint? Something sharp. Jesse liked smaller spaces, they felt familiar. He sat in silence for some time as Reyes filled out the paperwork for him.  _ Most of this is just to waste your time while he figures out what to do with you. I already know what I’m going to do with you.  _ The look that he received from the teenager gave him pause, that grimace. That sudden refusal to give him eye contact.  _ You’re safe, Jesse. I’m talking about your future in Overwatch _ . His resolve had softened considerably then and he put down his pen, leaning back in his desk chair and swiveling to face Jesse, who had shifted further to the edge of the bed (the only other seat in the room, and basically right next to the desk set against the same wall) so much that with the tensing in his legs it was obvious he wasn’t ‘sitting’ so much as getting ready to stand at a moment’s notice. There was a clear effort to suppress a very slight trembling in his knees, well, clear to someone like Gabriel who had an eye for distress.

 

_ I won’t tell you to relax, because I know that won’t happen right now. Look. Whatever you’re used to, whatever you knew before, that’s not Overwatch. _

 

Silence _.  _ The older man sighed and rubbed his stubbled cheek. Comfort wasn’t his strongest suit but it wasn’t impossible. The boy made it slightly easier, after all, he was a scared kid at some point too. Weren’t we all?

 

_ Sign this.  _

 

He handed part of the stack to Jesse, tucked under the clipboard tab with the pen. Jesse took it from the absolute corner but still had at least seemed to have unclenched his entire body to some degree. He signed with what was mostly a scribble and began to hand it back to Reyes, before catching something with his eye and immediately pulling it back. He drowned the signature in black ink and wrote again above it, prompting a slight brow raise from the other but no questioning. Misspelled his own name? Who knows? Not his business.

 

_ You can go now. I’ll bring this to Morrison. Go get some sleep. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed. _

 

Sleep. That was maybe the first and only full night’s sleep he had had without assistance since getting here, always choosing to fix his schedule around to where he knew no one else would be in the quarters at the same time as him. No one to chastise him for smoking near the equipment, or to tell him to not drink laying in bed.  _ You’re going to kill yourself, Jesse. At least die on the field like a man _ .

 

He grabbed the phone and reeled it in close, staring at it sideways and flicking at a few buttons until it responded, temporarily blinding him with the intense brightness of the screen. He squinted as he adjusted, pressing the screen out of memory to go back through his messages. Dozens of saved video messages but one on the top he had deliberately pinned. ‘Doc’ as the contact was saved. He gave it a double-tap and slid the bar on the side to keep it confined to the screen instead of projecting. 

 

_ Jesse? It’s Angela. I’ve been studying your vitals again and have some concerns. Have you been trying those exercises I showed you? I’m worried that you’re not getting enough sleep. Jesse, I’m your doctor, but I’m also your friend. If you ever need to talk, about anything, you know you can call me any time. Please take care of yourself. We need you with us. I need you to try. Okay, again, call me if you ever need me…. Goodb- _

 

Should he call? What time was it where she was? What would he even say? Oh sorry to call so late, doc, just having nightmares again. How does that fix anything? She couldn’t remove the trenches in his brain sending these rotten signals. Maybe she could. Maybe not. She was brilliant, but not a miracle worker. He sat up fully, phone still in hand as he pressed back against the cool metal wall, an almost painful contrast to his burning skin. Dark hair plastered to his face and he slid his free hand back through it to peel it some from him, squeezing the bunch against his scalp and being met with a fistful of sweat that he wiped off on his sheet.

 

Fuck. Is this what it’s going to be like forever? Every night? It didn’t seem to matter how much he drank, he still woke up most nights like this. Feeling like a zombie with bad breath. He knew if he consumed as much as was needed to keep him under he’d never wake up again, and he wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing. But he couldn’t do that to them…

 

_ Tick. Tick. Tick.. Tick… _

 

_ Friend _ . That’s what Angela had called herself to him. He still remembered their first meeting, her scolding him for smelling like an ashtray.  _ Smoking’s bad for you, you know _ . They were both 18 but from completely different worlds. She was educated, a genius he thought, and she had already done so much good. He was rotten, bad, only good at shooting and stealing. But she didn’t treat him like that in that examination (making sure he didn’t spread disease before getting into the group For Real or whatever), she just wanted to see him healthy. It was a very weird feeling to have someone invested in that way without some kind of ulterior motive. He supposed the only one with that kind of opinion of him was Morrison, and even Angela had assured Jesse not to worry too much about him.  _ What’s important is your safety and the safety of the team, do you understand Mr. McCree? _

 

_ Call me Jesse, doc. _

 

_ Okay, Jesse. Do you understand? _

 

_ Sure do. _

 

Sigh. Replay message. 47 views. 48.

 

_ Jesse? It’s Angela. I’ve been studying your vitals again and have some conce- _

 

He shuddered, placing the phone to his side and pulling his knees up closer to his chest, sheet falling off his barely clothed body and leaving him exposed. He pressed the side of his scruffy face to his knee and took a deep breath that came out through like an old man tapping the brakes.  _ Fuck fuck fuck. Can’t keep doing this. Ain’t making a difference like I was supposed to _ .

 

‘Course, that wasn’t true, he had dozens of missions under his belt at this point. But there was that ache in the pit of his stomach that told him otherwise.

 

_ We need you with us. I need you to try. _

 

He was trying. He wanted to do right by the world and he really was TRYING. It was hard, wasn’t sure if it was his dark clothes or the fact that people just don’t take kindly to a guy with a gun but even when the result was positive it was feeling like he was still painted as the bad guy.  _ Overwatch _ . He was a part of them, wasn’t he? He couldn’t help but feel more mercenary than team member sometimes. They took him for his skill, he should have been rotting away in prison. He should be there now, with the old family. He didn’t belong here with good people.

 

But. Maybe he did. Maybe not. 

 

The flask under his pillow had crept out from hiding from all the jostling, his knight in shining armor. He gave it a shake, almost empty when it had been full at the start of his usual wind-down session. The cap came off with a practiced two finger twist, leaving his other hand free to clear the cold sweat from his face again. He nearly drained it there, doing himself the future favor of leaving a swig to get his legs moving come morning. It went down as hard as it smelled and it brought back a hospital flash from not more than 3 months ago. All he could really remember from that night was the first gal to show him kindness in adulthood shoving a plastic tube down his throat and telling him he better not fucking die on her. The first time he ever heard Ziegler swear. The slideshow reeled against all the channels of his brain, he could smell the vomit and the penny taste of blood in his mouth. The willpower it took to re-cap the flask and shove it deep between the mattress bars would have impressed him if he were in a clearer mind. Instead it just frustrated.

 

_ I need you to try. _

 

He dug his palms against his eyes and clenched his teeth hard enough he thought they’d chip against each other but he just… didn’t care. He pressed the tears back and saw stars from behind his lids. “I’m tryin’.....” He sputtered a whisper into the darkness. “I’m sorry, I’m tryin’.....” His face was red, clear running from his nose that all he could really do was wipe it again and again. “I’m tryin’.......”

 

_ Tick. Tick. Tick… Tick…… Tick…… _

 

**_Jesse? It’s Angela. I’ve been studying your vitals again and have some concerns._ **


End file.
